


Direct Dial

by bluebells



Series: Somewhere to Begin [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam has all the plans and none of the regrets, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, D/s themes, Friends don't let friends whore themselves for information, Friends don't shoot friends in the face, Kevin and Adam are not friends (or so they tell themselves), M/M, Power Play, The one where Kevin has an archangel guardian, dom!Adam, sub!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 14:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5589658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam can count on one hand the things he knows about Kevin Tran. More accurately, the few details Kevin Tran has chosen to share:</p><p>1)	Kevin is eighteen-years-old and with only a year’s difference between them, Adam really shouldn’t call him a kid but Adam has so few reasons to get out of bed these days;<br/>2)	Kevin’s dad passed away when he was young, but his mother is still around -- a typical “Asian tiger mom”, though Adam isn’t sure what that means;<br/>3)	Apparently Kevin used to be nice? Whatever. Adam has seen Kevin handle a saucepan the way Serena Williams serves an ace, and he’s learned not to startle Mister “Advanced Placement” in the kitchen;<br/>4)	Kevin is a “word keeper”. Kevin is chosen. He’s a prophet, supposedly the only one currently on Earth who can decrypt the word of God transcribed on ancient tablets. Like Adam, he’s completely overwhelmed, but of the two of them, Kevin is the only one who’s honest about it;<br/>5)	As the one and only remaining prophet (if angels and witnesses are to be believed), Kevin was also assigned an archangel at birth who guards him from harm and ill intent. And lucky for Kevin, he got the archiest angel of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Direct Dial

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year, fandom, I was feeling nostalgic and, like Whitney, I will always love you.
> 
> I am about five or six seasons behind the show but, you know what, I wrote it anyway. Inspired by this one line I saw on tumblr where someone asked where was Kevin's guardian angel. That is a good question.
> 
> This takes place chronologically after the epilogue of _Somewhere to Begin_.

Adam can count on one hand the things he knows about Kevin Tran. More accurately, the few details Kevin Tran has chosen to share:

    1) Kevin is eighteen-years-old and with only a year’s difference between them, Adam really shouldn’t call him a kid but Adam has so few reasons to get out of bed these days;  
2) Kevin’s dad passed away when he was young, but his mother is still around -- a typical “Asian tiger mom”, though Adam isn’t sure what that means;  
3) Apparently Kevin used to be nice? Whatever. Adam has seen Kevin handle a saucepan the way Serena Williams serves an ace, and he’s learned not to startle Mister “Advanced Placement” in the kitchen;  
4) Kevin is a “word keeper”. Kevin is chosen. He’s a prophet, supposedly the only one currently on Earth who can decrypt the word of God transcribed on ancient tablets. Like Adam, he’s completely overwhelmed, but of the two of them, Kevin is the only one who’s honest about it;  
5) As the one and only remaining prophet (if angels and witnesses are to be believed), Kevin was also assigned an archangel at birth who guards him from harm and ill intent. And lucky for Kevin, he got the archiest angel of them all. 

Also luckily for Kevin, his guardian recently sprang himself from interdimensional lockdown. Lucky for _Adam_ that said guardian had brought Adam along in his jailbreak, though he has since learned it was a completely selfish gesture. Something about Adam’s utility as carry-on luggage. 

The archangel Michael sure knows how to make people feel indistinguishable from furniture.

“If you want to blame anyone, I name Castiel,” Adam says, clicking the safety off, and Kevin just blinks in boredom at the handgun that Adam levels between his eyes. “He’s the one who stamped the holy firewall on all our ribs. Personal safety aside, this is the fastest, surest way to dial direct.”

Kevin’s eyes are rimmed red with exhaustion, frowning in annoyance. He leans a hip against their motel couch, hands propped on his waist. Adam has the impression of being deeply (if fairly) judged. “You know there are easier ways to make a divine booty call, right? Why can’t you just trade numbers and bone in cars like normal people?”

Kevin has Ivy League smarts and a patiently thorough nature increasing his odds of outliving them all, but Adam still can’t figure out where he confused Kevin about his intentions. He could correct Kevin, but the misconception could still work in Adam’s favour. As long as Kevin doesn’t share his suspicions, Adam will let him infer whatever he likes. 

Adam’s time in the Cage taught him things that nobody in living memory ever has or ever will know.

It’s been six months since Michael found them at that bar in Michigan, since Adam gunned him down with a bullet in the shoulder and the element of surprise. That should have been the beginning of a new start for all of them, Castiel had been cautiously optimistic. The first steps were successfully laid according to plan, the timeline seemed intact, but Adam had known better than to relax.

_“You knew what to do,”_ Castiel had thundered, blue eyes bright as he emerged from the basement that held Michael only hours before. _“You’re the one that has to reach him. In the future, you’re the one—“_

Adam had scoffed. _“Why? Why does it have to be me? Dean’s the true vessel, what if I don’t want—“_ He kicked off from the kitchen wall, hands fisting in his hair. He wanted to take that chair from Bobby’s table and throw it through the window. He wanted to break every plate and rend every smooth surface until everything felt as chipped and ragged as him. _“I don’t know where you went, or what you saw, Castiel.”_

_“I showed you. You’ve seen it, too.”_

_“I don’t know what I saw, but I know the Cage. That’s what’s real.”_

Castiel had remained on the kitchen’s threshold, watching Adam pace, his mouth pinched in disapproval. _“The gun that helped you subdue Michael, is that not real?”_

_“Look, I don’t care where you get your toys from. But I’m going to be carrying a piece of that guy for the rest of my life like shrapnel. I’m Tony fucking Stark in that cave without a plan. The thing that almost killed me is now the only thing keeping me alive.”_ He scowled at Castiel’s darkening look. _“You should have let me kill him.”_

Castiel had slumped, and after a long moment, nodded with a heavy sigh. Adam wasn't the only one who was tired. _“It would be easier, but we’re talking about peace, Adam. A real, lasting end to the conflict between Heaven’s garrisons, between Heaven and Earth. You don’t cut off the head of the snake, you change its mind. I wish I could explain what Michael was like in that other place. I wish I could take you there.”_ Castiel crossed the kitchen and leaned with hands flat on the table. His voice was a low, rumble of appeal. _“You know him better now than most angels alive, but I don’t think you saw this. There’s still good in him. This is about more than what you or I want, Adam. It’s the fate of mankind, and your world.”_

Adam cocked his head. _“Right. And nothing to do with a future where you and Dean retire to the country with three dogs, a fireplace, and share body heat?”_

_“After the hellhounds, I don’t think Dean wants dogs.”_

Since Castiel gave Adam that strange gun with its rounds of remoulded archangel steel, Adam has heard a lot about this apparent happy ending waiting for them. Castiel had shared his memories with a brush of fingertips and a blur of power that felt like a heatwave: perfect rows of pear trees under a blue, washed out sky, the glare of a bowed street lamp on wood panelled floors, towers of pizza, and a sprawling green field within a perimeter of pine trees. There were feelings, too, impressions of memory like the echo of calls down a long, train tunnel. Stunned disbelief, and an almost overwhelming, startled joy. Adam remembers the feeling of Dean’s arms around him like it was the safest place on Earth, Michael’s hands clamping on his shoulders as he spoke in an urgent rush of instruction. 

Fuck if that hadn’t been disorienting. What the fuck had Castiel been taking? 

Adam knows better. He knows there is no happy ending for them. But if they’re trying to heel Michael (and shit if that prospect doesn’t make Adam’s vision darken with worry every time he thinks about it), he may have an idea. He shared a mind and body with the archangel of an absent Lord, and the learning process went both ways.

After Michael escaped, a stream of strange events rippled through the world, landing a freshly awoken if hysterical prophet in their lap. Sam and Dean had since lumped the new guy (Adam) with the newer guy. It suited Adam fine because it meant he had someone to commiserate about abrupt life changes and share the books while seething over vicious dislike of the Winchesters (though that was more Adam than wide-eyed, shaken Kevin). 

Kevin took one look at the body count under the Winchesters’ track record and moved to Adam’s side of the motel room. Adam has grown fond of Kevin in the short months since Sam and Dean told them to watch each other’s backs while they took to the field with Castiel. It suits Adam just fine, but there are some things Adam cannot even share with his recent shadow.

“Seriously, your walk of shame better end with a phone number tomorrow morning or I’m going to lace your breakfast with laxatives when you least expect it and then you’ll really have something to be ashamed of. I have better things to do than be your pager, and for the record, though it never changes your mind—“ Kevin throws his hand up in weary appeal to the spotted ceiling of their motel room. “I do not consent to this, it was so insane the first time, I don’t even have a word to express my disbelief that – that we’re doing it _again_ because if we survive, your brothers will _kill us_ –“

“ _Take it easy_ , dude.” Adam’s arm slackens, air hissing out between his teeth as he turns his eyes to that same pattern of mould on the ceiling. It bends like a Big Dipper stooped around the yellow light bulb when he lets his vision unfocus in a private concession of his own exhaustion. He really wishes he had the peace of mind to come up with a better tactic. He wishes he could be more useful than… this. “It doesn’t count as insane until you repeat the motion expecting a different outcome. From today you can say ‘insane’, Mister Advanced Placement.”

“I am not joking! Could you at least aim at something less vital than my face.”

Adam considers the general principles of prophet protection with a hum, his mouth quirking. “Yeah, once your looks are gone in this game, it’s all over. Maybe the leg: I can avoid the femoral artery and it should still bleed enough for show.”

Kevin’s glare is both murderous and doe-eyed with his large, dark eyes. “You just laced your own breakfast, buddy. Better start wearing the brown pants.”

Adam bites the inside of his cheek to wrestle a smile back, and hopes the click of the gun cocking sounds as apologetic as he feels. “It isn’t personal.” Shit, he’d clearly been spending too much time with those Winchesters.

“Story of our lives, right?” It’s a small mercy that Kevin isn’t holding a saucepan right now.

The trigger’s edges sharpen under the skin of Adam’s knuckle. He’s barely finished the decision to squeeze when time seems to slow with a sudden, formless weight sliding down his nape like a hot caress. He never gets used to this. Adam doesn’t notice the breathy gasp escaping him when that inexorable weight descends on his shoulders. His knees buckle, light flares like an angry burst of stars in the space before Kevin, and Adam feels like he is plunged into a pool of water: falling without weight, the roar of his own heartbeat in his ears, and he can’t breathe. 

In one moment, he’s meeting Kevin’s arched look of judgment. In the next, Adam is crumpled against the far wall, struggling for air as blots of light dance in his eyes.

When his vision refocuses, his heart slams against his ribs.

Michael smiles down at him, a pleased, indulgent smirk, while leaning heavily on the forearm braced against Adam’s windpipe. “Adam,” he tuts, shaking his head without a hint of real admonishment. “If this is how you treat your allies, consider making new ones.”

Adam gasps, eyes wide in his strain for air, grasping at Michael’s elbow. He’ll never get used to this either. Michael draws closer to press against his chest, an imposing silhouette of pure hunger, green eyes devouring the sight of Adam gasping, knees buckled. Fucking typical asshole.

Over Michael’s shoulder and across the room, Kevin tilts his head with hands on his hips, expression bored. “You two disgust me.” He raises a special, silver revolver to the back of Michael’s head. “You know the drill. Back up. Play nice. Get a cellphone so I don’t have to watch this demented foreplay, and you better let Adam come back to us in one piece before the morning or I swear that—“

“Is that any way to speak to your guardian? What if he wants to stay for breakfast, Kevin?” Michael interrupts, throwing the prophet a shark’s smile.

Michael is wearing the same guy as last time: this thirty or forty-something year-old office worker who was plucked from casual Friday in his grey-and-gold checkered dress shirt and deep, blue jeans. Freshly pressed and not a thread out of place: Adam always begrudges the angels their powers of laundering. 

The only hints of wear in this vessel are the new lines that form at the crease of Michael’s eyes and mouth when he smiles, white teeth gleaming. 

Kevin cocks the hammer on the revolver and makes a decent display of correctly aiming. “He can’t eat if he’s dead, moron.”

“The mouth on this guy,” Michael mutters, low enough just for Adam’s ears. “I thought Asians had better respect for their elders.”

Adam snatches Michael’s other hand to halt whatever lesson he’s thinking of sharing with Kevin, grasping it into a loose fist within his. “Leave him,” he strains under the weight Michael’s still leaning against his air. “I’ll tell him.”

Behind them, Kevin is still going. “And you can’t step on firm ground if that vessel of yours break down, so you two just… I don’t want to know the details, okay, but you better be back by noon tomorrow, Adam, or I’m telling your brothers.”

Adam blinks at him in disbelief. Isn’t Kevin threatening the wrong person here?

The floorboards hurt Adam’s knees when he drops, released from Michael’s hold. Vision pulsing in watery blurs of colour, Adam drags in reedy gasps of air, hands clutched to his throat. 

Oh, this better be worth it. 

Kevin appears at his side, pushing a glass of water into his hand. Gun still aimed at Michael, Kevin looks between them, hesitating on Adam with real concern. Michael takes a step back with the decency to smirk from a distance. He knows that gun is effective against him, knows that it might be the only one in existence. Michael still has the scar on his shoulder to prove it. However, slumped in the shadow of Heaven’s sword, it’s easy for Adam to remember why Kevin was still right to be worried.

Adam meets Kevin’s frown, and nods at the door. He’s all right. 

Kevin hesitates with a look too close to guilt. Tired bravado forgotten for a moment, Kevin is reduced to the kid who was introduced to Adam that first night, bag clutched tight to his chest. Adam has to push Kevin’s hand from his shoulder for the kid to get the point.

He’s got this. 

“Get out of here,” Adam says.

Kevin drags his feet, Adam doesn’t watch him go, and the door clicks shut behind him a long moment later. Steeling the hurricane of nerves in his stomach, he swallows quickly to force more moisture down his sore throat. When he finally raises his eyes, Michael is watching him patiently, his mouth a cold, thin line of a smile. He smiles like he knows something, like he’s collected one more knife to hold behind his back. It makes Adam’s stomach drop through an icy current of apprehension, but he can’t afford to be afraid.

Michael is the first to break the thick silence, voice low and taunting. “We have to stop meeting like this. Your prophet will talk.”

Adam sips carefully, and doesn’t bother tempering the heat of his glare when he lays the glass aside. “I don’t want to talk about Kevin.”

He puts all thoughts of Kevin, of Castiel, and his bastard brothers aside with a long, slow exhale of effort. He and Michael shared a body, mind, and more, once. He can do this.

Michael is watching him with a raised eyebrow, ever imperious when all he has to do is show up and relax. The late afternoon sun cleaves through the thin shield of cheap, motel curtains. The sunbeams set the green of his eyes ablaze like golden sand. Humoured, Michael smirks, “And what would –“

Adam shakes his head, voice low and roughened. “Get on your knees.”

The shock that slackens Michael’s expression almost makes Adam smile, but he resists. Michael collects himself, glancing away with a small laugh of disbelief. “Oh, little Adam –“

Adam rises to his feet in the next breath, and he must be doing something right because Michael lets him. Michael stands half a head taller than him, but something in him stills, almost shrinking in the slightest hunch of his shoulders when Adam leans in. “I won’t ask again.”

Michael’s expression shifts to wonder, a sneaking almost delighted suspicion glittering in his eyes and the white gleam of his smile. Adam cannot allow Michael to think he still has the upper hand here. Michael cannot enjoy whatever he thinks is happening. At least, not consciously. Not yet.

Good god who abandoned Adam to ghouls, please let him be right.

“To be clear,” Adam says, quiet and intimate. “Nothing is forgiven. But I have something you want. You have information I want. You can give this to me, just me, without betraying anyone.”

Michael is perfectly still for a long span of breaths until his hands twitch at his sides and his eyes narrow gently in his curiousity, roaming the lines of Adam’s face. Adam doesn’t know if that’s genuine conflict he’s reading, but he does not trust the silence.

“You’re an angel,” Adam says, smoothing some of the gravel from his voice. “I know what orders mean to you. You need instruction the way we need food and water – air, even.”

Because angels were built to serve and adore, to protect His greatest and proudest creation of mankind. See, Adam paid attention when Michael ranted in the Cage during those rare moments there was something coherent to focus on.

But now, Adam is entirely focused on something else. In his head, he hears an echo of Castiel’s sigh _(“I wish I could explain what Michael was like in that other place”)_. Adam has never seen Michael this still, this… careful or contemplative. Eventually, Michael simply turns his head in soft disagreement, no real hint of regret, “I already have orders.”

“And I have your name,” Adam says, without missing a beat. “I have your pass home, and mine is the blood that will let you keep wearing that face so _get on your knees.”_

Adam’s heartbeat roars in his ears, he wonders if his face is flushed with it, because nothing can prepare him for the full body thrill that rushes through him when Michael sinks slowly to one, then both knees. His eyes never leave Adam’s face. This close, he has to crane his neck slightly to meet Adam’s gaze. It’s such a heady, sweet pretence, that Adam is in control.

“Did you know we were never to let men bow to angels?” Michael smiles, and it is still too self-assured. “It was decreed in the beginning that all mankind would only ever bend their knee to God.”

“Good thing I’m not an angel.” Adam doesn’t think twice before pulling the spare pistol from the back of his waistband. Of all reactions, Michael’s smile sharpens.

“A very good thing,” Michael agrees, watching the motion when Adam cocks the hammer.

“You know these bullets.” Adam glances to the shoulder of Michael’s shirt hiding the scar just beneath his collarbone. “You’ve felt them before.”

Finally, that smile dampens around its edges. 

It’s Adam’s turn to smile. His other hand is sinking into Michael’s hair before he realises he’s raised it, blunt fingernails running lightly down the angel’s scalp, but Michael remains still, allowing those fingers to scrape the hairline behind his ear. Adam traces the lip of the gun’s barrel against Michael’s temple in short, light lines. “Something for something. You know what I want.”

Michael’s gaze flickers down and Adam hears him swallow. “The same question as before?”

“The same.”

Michael considers this before his eyes return to Adam’s face. “Well, whatever you ask, you and your brothers already learned I’m incapable of lying to you. With such assurances, how much will you give me?”

“As much as I want to give you.” Adam scowls, gripping gently in Michael’s hair.

Michael’s eyes shut for a moment, it’s a slow blink, really, but Adam cannot ignore the way Michael gasps at the tug in his hair. Adam freezes, watches Michael swiftly recover himself, then Adam experimentally closes a light fist of Michael’s short, dark hair in his hand. His grasp is slow, firm, drawing Michael’s head back, exposing his throat, and Adam definitely is not imagining Michael’s sharp inhale, the way his eyes shut with an expression of… muted bliss. Contentment. Michael’s hands grasp like claws at his own thighs; he sways, just a little in his kneel. Jesus Christ, Adam never thought he would see that look on Michael’s face without someone being maimed for it.

And more importantly, Adam was right. He knew it. Others might have suspected, but who else had ever seen Michael like this? Had the opportunity to reduce him to....

God, he could kill Michael right now. Had his brothers ever had Michael at such mercy?

Michael sighs, a long and heady exhale. He looks up at Adam through slanted eyes. “The demons have the Angel tablet. Mine were not the ones who unsealed it.”

“What do the demons want with it?”

“Your brothers know Crowley is only handling your motley crew as a means to an end,” Michael’s expression tightens and Adam tugs the hand in his hair gently to distract from whatever protest Michael’s logical mind is trying to push forward. Adam gentles his handgun down the line of Michael’s sharp cheekbone, succeeding in bringing Michael’s attention back to him with the cool press of stainless steel.

“What does he want with it?”

Michael blinks a few times, his eyes unfocused on a spot around Adam’s navel. “Every secret of our nature is inscribed on that tablet. How to kill us. How to help us grow, to multiply our numbers. So it is said.”

“You mean like reproduction?”

Michael smirks and his gaze drops to Adam’s groin, travelling up his chest, back to his eyes. Adam feels it like a physical caress, and he does _not_ imagine the heat that strokes up the inside of his thighs like heavy hands of mist, a blatant suggestion, and Adam will never get used to feeling Michael’s grace like that, either. He clenches his jaw against the shiver threatening to ripple through his body, and lets Michael feel his annoyance with a rough tug that actually makes Michael grunt under his breath. 

“I didn’t give you permission to do that,” Adam says. 

Michael has shut his eyes, wince softening towards that smile Adam really hates. “I don’t need your permission, Adam.”

Adam grinds his jaw. Fucking asshole. 

Michael doesn’t need to breathe, but he still gasps like he does when Adam steps in, pressing their bodies flush together. Adam says goodbye to self-preservation and leans his forehead against Michael’s, burying the end of the pistol’s barrel beneath Michael’s jaw. Michael sways for a moment, body loose against his former vessel, and Adam hums in victory.

“I think you’d like it,” Adam’s voice is a murmur against Michael’s skin, and Michael is not smiling anymore, mouth slack. “You’d like someone to say ‘yes’ and ‘please’ without being ordered.”

“Are you going to say ‘yes’, Adam?” Michael’s breath is a hot rush against Adam’s lips, and Adam almost flinches at his own instinct to close the space between them. Instead, he pulls back enough to meet his eyes, and fuck, Michael’s eyes are so dark, almost all the blood abandons the scheming highways of Adam’s brain to rush south. What the fuck. 

“You’re never possessing me again, asshole.”

Michael shrugs, with a slight nod. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Hmm,” Adam studies the sight before him. Body loose, dumb with arousal, an almost perfect submission. He likes the way Michael looks like this. “I asked you first.”

Michael hums, tugging his lip into his mouth to lick his lips, and -- has Adam just inspired dry mouth in Heaven’s highest warrior? Michael eventually frowns, looking sincerely troubled. “What was the question?”

Adam blinks. Could he get a trophy for this?

“How are the demons translating the tablet?”

“They can’t, not without our mutual friend.”

“And you’re going to keep him safe? Long enough for him to translate it for _you?_ Why do the angels want it?”

Michael rolls his eyes and Adam loosens his death grip in the angel’s hair, trying to ignore the way residual tension leaks from Michael’s shoulders. 

“I exist for two reasons today, Adam: to protect Kevin Tran and to destroy Lucifer. These objectives may no longer prove mutually exclusive. Our time in the Cage proved to both of us that we can’t end this by our current means. Everyone is raising their game. The tablet… is the key. The demons may have already used the tablet somehow, but for what sacrilege… only time will tell.”

Adam raises an eyebrow. That’s very interesting. “Thank you for your candour.”

“Oh, I’m going to win, Adam. I’m going to destroy your brothers until they’re obliterated from all memory. I don’t mind telling you that.”

Right. He resists rolling his eyes. “See, was that so hard? You did so well.”

And he means it as a taunt, a patronising jab at Michael’s nature, but Michael _preens_ , turning to hide his smile in the palm Adam had buried in his hair. Adam stiffens at the low rumble of pleasure in Michael’s throat. The sound blooms heat in Adam’s chest, unfurling its vine to Adam’s gut where it coils tightly, the sudden rush of possession taking him by surprise.

“So well,” he murmurs, releasing Michael’s hair, ignoring the angel’s soft noise of annoyed protest. If it spurns Adam to hasten, well, Michael doesn’t complain. Adam has to holster the gun for this, and there’s a beat of vulnerability when everything could turn on its head, but Michael’s attention is rapt on the butterfly knife Adam flips into his hand. The nick across his wrist always stings, he is careful to avoid the arteries.

That dark hunger is back in Michael’s eyes when the first bead wells to the surface. Michael reaches up – “Can I?”

Adam doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

Michael stiffens, expression stung with disappointment, and it’s Adam’s turn to smile. So, this is what power feels like. When he presses his bleeding wrist to Michael’s open lips, the angel’s growl is pure hunger. The vengeful threat of sharp teeth close around the wound and Adam gasps, panting, but does not pull away.

Angels need orders the way humans needs oxygen. But to believe that Adam could ever have Michael under his thumb is the day Michael will break him, irreparably. Adam believes that, not some dream of a future nestled in wine valleys. He wants peace, and he gave Castiel his word that he would help him fight for it, however he can. Adam just hopes he’ll recognise the peace when or if it ever comes. He hopes he’ll be around to see it.

The strength of Michael’s thirst ratchets Adam’s heart against his ribs, and he steadies himself with a hand on Michael’s shoulder, does not think about his legs buckling or the moment he lets Michael take the lean of his full weight, groaning weakly at the pressure against his erection as he slides down Michael’s body.

Adam has already been to Hell. He’s been to its Cage. He has the mental scars to prove it. If Michael thinks he can drag Adam back down, Adam will remind him which of their races was the first to fall.

Bring it on.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr.](http://bellsyblue.tumblr.com/)


End file.
